HAYTHAM
I tried not to think of her too much.
It would only lead my concentration astray again. That was the very last thing I wanted. But occasionally I would let my thought stream wander back to that bronzed face; that deerskin dress and those pools of deepest brown in her eyes. It didn't matter what I was doing at the time. I wasn't sure how I'd linked what was taking place around me to Ziio in most incidents. I would wonder what she thought of me now, and whether she missed me as much as I did her.
ZIIO
There was something about the peculiarity of Boston that made me feel uncomfortable.
Perhaps it was the cacophony: the thousands of tones and languages splintering the air. Perhaps it was the unusual concept of actually being able to blend in among the city folk, without "savage" being sneered into my ears. Supposedly that was a good factor, but it was not what I was used to. It was somewhat odd. Perhaps it was its altogether rich content. There was so much to see, hear, smell and feel that it dizzied my head.
Either way, it was all too much. Boston was simply everything and nothing of what I'd ever seen before. The misty air was mingled with so many scents attempting to flavour the city: smoke, the tinge of metal wood, horse manure and many more. Nothing like the forest.
The buildings seemed to stand tall and pompous in their pride, as people scampered the streets at their feet. Each person seemed to be engrossed in their own little world, oblivious to the fact that Boston was such a busy place with so much to see.
I had loved coming here for the first time. But that was once. Not anymore.
From what I had been told, the tavern I stood by was where Haytham was staying. The afternoon sun lit up faded gold letters that barely read: The Wright Tavern. I groaned inwardly. So far I'd had a terrible experience in pubs and brew-houses like this one. Just because this was Boston – where anyone of any nationality seemed to belong – would not make much difference.
This will not be much fun, I thought, turning to open the door.
When I entered, my nostrils were immersed in the musky stench of beer, batter, smoke and polished wood. The air was so thick with fumes from nearby candles that I could barely see. I wondered why they needed the candles for light, anyway: outside the sun was beaming down, the rays stretching through a few tiny windows. Musicians let their instruments warble in unison, so all the babble of contented voices was raised in order to overpower the tune. Men huddled together around the tables, gulping down the contents of their tankards happily.
But it was a table right in the corner of the room that caught my eye. I suppose I recognised a few of the men sat round it. But where was the man I was looking for? One of them with jet-black hair (held back by a red ribbon) and a triangular cap turned his head slightly. Aha. There he is.
As usual, Haytham still hadn't seen me. He and the other three men were watching a savagely drunk fourth man of their own. He swayed on the spot by the fireplace, clutching his tankard and giving some sort of slurred speech. The only words I caught were: "On the cold, cold ground..." before throwing his empty tankard to the floor.
All the men – Haytham included – gave a loud cheer. One of them bellowed: "Here, here!" in a slightly Irish accent.
I rolled my eyes. So this is what Master Kenway has been up to. I decided all of a sudden that I'd do what I usually did and surprise him with a dry joke. The last person he'd expect to see in this tavern was me.
HAYTHAM
I felt delicate fingers brush against my shoulders; I nearly choked on my ale in surprise. Before I could turn around to see who was behind me, the mystery figure spoke.
"Hard at work, I see?" The voice was soft yet flirtatious; dry but amused.
I swivelled round in my chair...and for a moment I wasn't able to swallow. It was Ziio, leaning so close to the side of my face that our cheeks were nearly touching. My heart began pounding in my chest.
How didn't I hear her coming?
What took her so long to come?
How did she know I am here?
"How did you...?" were the only words I could manage.
She laughed coyly, shrugging. "It is time. I have set up camp to the North. Meet me there."
And as quickly as she had appeared, Ziio was headed for the door. I still hadn't quite got over the sight of her. First of all came embarrassment, for not apologizing for being away for so long. Not only that, but also for the fact that she'd caught me at the wrong time: drinking. Soon after I'd finished marvelling over what had just happened, I snapped back into focus. A new determination filled my heart.
I turned to the rest of the Templars (who hadn't seemed to have spotted Ziio). "Gentlemen," I announced, "let us away."
We all rose in unison and headed for our horses outside: the mission to hunt a Bulldog had officially begun.